


Inter Alia

by PenPistola



Series: NeverVerse [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Homophobia, Multi, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:16:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9263048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenPistola/pseuds/PenPistola
Summary: L. (adv.) lit., "amongst other things."Snippets from the NeverVerse, in no particular order. Character tags, relationships, and warnings shall be added as necessary.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Individual warnings for this chapter: internalized homophobia, slurs, consensual underage sex, sexual violence, language.

The first time you get a guy to fuck you, it doesn't go so well. And that's on you; there's just something about the total skeeviness of getting it on in the locker room of your high school gym after hours (with an absolute _stereotype_ of a football player, no less) that _does it_ for you. You really should have expected it to end how it ends, and yet somehow, it takes you by surprise.

It's the end of March, 1995. You've come to terms and you're just fine with the fact that you're a dude who likes dudes, even if society at large isn't quite there yet. At least things have progressed to the point where you won't automatically get your ass beaten or lynched just for soliciting sex from a straight dude—especially since you offered him fifty bucks.

"Alright, let's do this," Trevor says lowly. Football practice is over for the evening, and as far as you know, you're the only two people left on campus. You understand his desire for caution and expediency, but you're not so keen to rush things.

You absently run your tongue along your bottom lip, and your gaze drops to Trevor's crotch. He's wearing the sweatpants most of the guys put on when they've showered after practice, though you'd asked him not to bathe just yet. "Can I…" It would be ridiculous to try and put your desires in delicate terms, so you just come out and say it: "Can I suck your dick first?"

He looks surprised, but certainly not disagreeable. (Most guys, in your experience, won't turn down a blowjob, gay or straight.) "Go for it." He pulls down the front of his sweatpants to reveal his cock. You're already mostly hard where you're still trapped in the uncomfortable confines of your jeans, but he's fully flaccid—apparently even the promise of a free, willing suck 'n' fuck isn't enough to get him going. He's pretty to look at, though. Uncut, thick, and eight inches when fully erect (by his own undoubtedly generous estimation). You'll know the truth for yourself soon enough.

You pull over a folded-up wrestling mat from the corner and sink to your knees on it, and he steps forward, lazily tugging at the base of his cock. You guide his free hand around to the back of your head and entangle his fingers in your hair. He gets the picture and tugs you roughly toward his crotch. You ain't gotta be told nothing twice. You lick a stripe up his cock, from where he's holding it just above his balls, up to the frenulum, where you suck lightly and then run your tongue under his foreskin.

"Look at you; you're practically gagging for it, you little queer," he sneers down at you. You don't care for his choice of language, but you've got him rocking a semi now, and if a little light verbal abuse is his thing, well, you'll shut up and put out. And to be honest, he's not wrong. You are _shamefully_ into sucking dick, and from what you've been told, you're pretty damn good at it. When he's half hard like this, it's beyond easy for you to take him down to the root. Your nose brushes his pubes and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, shoving him a little further down your throat, and you love it. You love the weight of a cock on your tongue, love the musky scent of sweat in his pubes, love the salty taste of precum and the way his rapidly engorging boner makes you choke around him. (Eight inches was maybe a _little_ generous, but to your delight, not by much.) He finally moves his hand away from himself and you replace it with your own, encircling the root of his dick with thumb and forefinger to keep it in place. Your left hand snakes down to free your own rock-hard dick from your jeans, and you begin jerking it with frantic abandon. Trevor takes some initiative and starts thrusting down your throat, and you choke and moan even as you struggle to breathe. There's a warm, dark glow in your belly, a pull behind your tightening balls, and you're so blissed out, your body shaking and spasming, that you don't recognize it as an impending orgasm until it's almost too late. Your hands fly to grip at your thighs and you pull off Trevor's dick, panting and drooling enough to fill the school's Olympic-sized pool.

"Why'd you stop?" he growls as you stand up on shaky legs. Your response is to shuck your jeans down to your knees. He blinks, as if he'd forgotten why you were here in the first place, and then his eyes go dark with understanding. He crowds into your space and backs you up to the row of lockers, stroking himself, and starts pushing at your shoulders with his free hand to try and turn you around.

"Dude, wait," you protest hoarsely, "'m not gonna let you raw me dry. Spit doth not a good lube make." This you know from experience, having been on the other end of the equation a few times. There's also no way you're doing this standing up; you're a tall guy, a little over six feet, but he's a goddamn offensive tackle—six four at least. You're not getting fucked on your tiptoes.

"You didn't, uh, fuckin'... _prepare_ , or anything?" Trevor asks, annoyed.

"And walk around the school with my ass lubed up?"

His expression twists as if the very idea offends him. "Whatever. Just, I'm not putting my fingers in there, so you do it."

Oh, but he'll put his dick in? You see how it is.

There's a couple small packets of lube in your back jeans pocket and you retrieve them, tearing one open with your teeth and spreading the viscous fluid over your digits before dropping back to your knees. It's not the most romantic, fingering yourself open in front of a dude who's two parts disgusted to three parts just plain disinterested, but you close your eyes, and that's enough for you to get into it. You pretend it's someone you care about, someone who cares about you, and it takes real, conscious effort not to imagine it's Brandon. You picture the angry snarl on Bran's face after you'd kissed him and remember the shock of him breaking your nose, and that helps.

"...Are you done yet?"

You open one eye to glare at Trevor, then huff and pull your fingers out your ass, wiping globs of excess lube across the metal of his locker out of spite. Let him explain _that_ to the coach, later.

"Done enough, I guess. Condom?"

Trevor's eyes go wide and he goes digging in his gym bag for his wallet, muttering to himself, "Can't believe I almost forgot it."

You shoot him a flat smirk. "Well I mean, I did just blow you with my mouth directly on your dick. I'm clearly not _that_ worried about getting a little jizz on me." You pause, frowning. "...In me; whatever."

"I'm not worried about _you_ catching something," Trevor sneers at you. "My girlfriend made me go with her to get tested. Who knows whether or not _you're_ clean."

Well that's just fucking offensive. "You think I have AIDS or something just because I'm gay?"

"Man, didn't you hear about Eazy-E?" Trevor bites back. Fair point. "Condom, or no deal."

"Fine," you sigh. It's not like you're opposed to the idea of safe sex; you just secretly wanted it as raw and dirty as possible, because you're a filthy goddamn cockslut. Your blasé attitude toward protection is probably gonna bite you in the ass someday. "Let's just get this over with."

"How are we doing it?" he asks as he rolls a lubricated rubber over his dick and gives it a couple strokes to keep himself hard. "Doggy?"

"Well I sure as shit don't wanna look you in the baby blues while you're poundin' my ass, dude," you grumble. Somehow this whole situation is amounting to less than the torrid, sweaty porno you'd been imagining.

"Suck my dick."

"Already did."

In response to your sass he shoves your shoulder hard, spinning you around and forcing you to catch yourself on all fours. You gasp— _this_ is more like it.

"Stay right where you are, and don't make a sound," he says, low and in your ear. You can feel his looming heat on your bare skin, and your ass clenches in anticipation. "If you get loud, we're done."

"Go slow," you grunt quietly.

"No promises."

It takes him a couple tries to find your hole with the blunt head of his cock, because he refuses to use his fingers to help guide it, and a couple more for him to actually get it in. Clearly he is inexperienced in the art of dudefucking. Eventually, though, you feel a solid, unyielding pressure as he hits home and leans forward into you.

"Shhhit," you hiss through gritted teeth as he pushes past that tight ring of muscle, forcing himself inside you. Your arms shake with the effort of holding completely still, as if that'll stop you from feeling so oppressively full. You did as much prep as you thought was necessary, but he's stretching you wider now than your fingers ever could, and it _burns_. At least there's plenty of lube.

"Oh fuck, that's tight," Trevor grunts, and shoves himself in another inch. Your eyes water against your will, but this is nothing you haven't done to yourself with a makeshift dildo. You're just usually, you know, gentler. Finally he bottoms out, his hips pressed to your ass, and you sigh in relief. But he doesn't give you much time to adjust. He must find his groove pretty quickly, because he surprises you after a few experimental thrusts with a hard, punishing pace that leaves you gasping in either pain or pleasure—you're not sure. It's good, in a way. You like the rough treatment, getting manhandled a bit as he grips your hips tight enough to bruise. He snaps into you too haphazardly to really do much for your prostate, but it's half just the _idea_ of getting fucked that's doing it for you. A soft chorus of _ah, ah, ah_ spills from your lips as you gasp in time to his quiet panting. Yeah, you could probably get off to this. You reach a hand up to touch yourself, because you've gone mostly soft and you're sure as shit Trevor's not gonna do it, but before you've gotten out more than a measly three strokes, he comes. He doesn't say anything; he just loses his rhythm, and you feel the indistinct sensation of his cock pulsing inside you.

He grunts and slowly stutters to a stop, and then with no regard for your comfort, he pulls out all at once. You're still reeling from the loss when you're hit with a sudden, sharp blow to the back of your head.

"Fuck!" you cry as your arms give out, and you catch yourself on your elbows just in time to stop yourself from faceplanting on the mat. Your ears are ringing, the spot where he'd hit you thrumming with pain in time to your pulse, so you can just barely make out Trevor's muttered, "Faggot," as he tosses the used condom on the ground, hikes his sweatpants back up and walks away. The locker room door swings and clicks shut behind him like a final 'fuck you'.

That's… that's it?

The moment he's gone, you give up on staying upright and flop over on your side, curling into yourself. Your body is throbbing at both ends, and to top it all off, you're burning with shame. It's been years since you cried at anything less than someone dying. You didn't even shed a tear when Brandon rejected you, and violently. But lying there on the floor, abused and humiliated, your breath catches and you break into rapid, panicked sobs. You fucked up. You let someone take your backdoor V-card in the locker room of your fucking high school gym. You let Trevor, a jock douchebag you barely know, _inside_ you.

You'd wanted to be used, but not like that. You should have known.

 _Faggot_.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, it's been a long time since I wrote porn! Even though it's less porn, per se, and more like especially filthy wangst.
> 
> Additional background info: Dirk doesn't bottom again until he's 23, when he dates a pro dom for a while who teaches him about safe and consensual BDSM, and changes his mind completely about what sex ought to be. That's when Dirk learns the merits of service topping, and the magic of the phrase, "I haven't done anything that you didn't like."
> 
> btw『ロバのパンチ』 literally means "donkey punch" fucking kill me ok
> 
> i know it doesn't technically count but i was telling my husband about what i was writing and then he said it and NOW I CAN'T STOP THINKING IT


End file.
